Scandalously in Love
by Morfiwien Greenleaf
Summary: In River City, even a married woman can fall prey to scandal and the rumor mill. The “honeymoon hairpin” incident comes back to haunt Marian Paroo Hill...
1. Scandalously in Love

Almost two months had passed since Marian Paroo and Harold Hill had exchanged wedding vows on that chilly, gray November morning. The ensuing winter had been harsh weather-wise, but for Marian, the days passed languidly and blissfully as they had in the summer. Gradually, she was learning to be less shy about sharing a bed with Harold – even though he seemed to have taken marriage as a license to give full rein to his mischievousness and ardor – but there were some things that would always bring a blush to her cheeks. One of those things was the hairpins she kept finding around the parlor.

On the night Harold brought her home as his bride, Marian had unpinned her hair in a moment of playful spontaneity. Though she didn't regret what she had done, she wished she had been a bit more mindful of the future consequences. As a result of her bold actions, their parlor had achieved a romantic significance rivaling that of the footbridge. Whenever the two of them retired there after supper to relax and unwind from a busy day – it didn't matter how far apart they sat or how mundane the topic of conversation was – they would inevitably end up entwined in a breathless embrace on the sofa, Harold removing the pins from Marian's hair before taking her upstairs to their bedroom.

Marian wouldn't have been so embarrassed by this if she could have retrieved all her hairpins later and put them away in their appropriate place – an impossible task, as Harold was not at all conscientious of where the pins ended up once they were out of her hair. In the throes of passion, he never paid any attention to such unimportant details and, if truth be told, Marian was too focused on other things to care, either. For the first few weeks when she came downstairs the next morning and found hairpins scattered pell-mell around the sofa, the librarian simply let out an exasperated sigh and gathered them up – though she secretly delighted in the romantic recklessness of it all.

But such things ceased to be charming when the pins were discovered by River City's most prominent (and gossipy) citizens. And it was particularly mortifying when such occasions happened more than once!

The initial incident occurred in late December, during the first Events Committee meeting Marian had the pleasure of hosting in her new home. When Mrs. Squires wondered aloud why there were hairpins on the rug, the librarian was able to laugh it off as a symptom of holiday madness. The other ladies promptly accepted Marian's excuse; as one prepared for Christmas, things were always a bit disorganized around the house. But when the ladies caught sight of hairpins during the Events Committee meeting Marian hosted at the end of January, the librarian could find no alibi to satisfy their curiosity.

Maud Dunlop was the first to notice something amiss. Fortunately, she was more discreet than Mrs. Squires had been about the matter. During a lull in the meeting, when the ladies were taking a break for refreshments, Mrs. Dunlop – who was seated on the sofa – motioned Marian over and gestured under a nearby end table. "Just thought you'd like to know, dear," she whispered.

"Thank you, Mrs. Dunlop," Marian said nonchalantly – though she couldn't prevent a faint blush from rising to her cheeks. Ever since Harold had orchestrated the confrontation that led to Priscilla Harper's downfall, Mrs. Dunlop seemed to regard the librarian with especial fondness (Marian supposed it was because the woman's family gatherings had become far more enjoyable, due to the absence of her overbearing cousin; Mrs. Dunlop had confessed this was the first holiday season in many years that she didn't feel a twinge of dread when it approached).

If Mrs. Dunlop's whispered warning had been the only hairpin episode, Marian might have been able to live it down. But a few minutes later, Mrs. Grubb pointed to a spot near the fireplace. "Mrs. Hill, I think you might have missed something in your post-holiday cleanup," she said with a hint of laughter. Unlike Mrs. Dunlop, she did not bother to speak in a low voice.

With all the ladies' attentions now fixed squarely upon her, Marian went to examine the area Mrs. Grubb had indicated. As it turned out, there were not one, but two hairpins on the rug.

Marian forced a laugh as she retrieved the pins. "Well, that's odd!" she said truthfully – for she did wonder how they had managed to land in such a far-flung place. Usually, she found most of them in and around the sofa. But then she remembered how, last night, Harold had teasingly removed a few of her hairpins as she was tending to the fire. Ironically, that had been the one innocent occasion to do with hairpins; after making his point, her husband retreated to the music room to finish some emporium business he had brought home.

But Marian knew it wouldn't do any good to try to explain what had happened. For women who prided themselves so highly on their decent and upright existences, Mrs. Shinn and her ladies certainly had the tendency to formulate the most sordid possible explanations for a situation. They had done so with Mr. Madison, and Marian could tell from their avid, scandalized expressions they were doing the same with her hairpins. _Well, even if they're wrong in this instance, they would be right in general, wouldn't they, Marian?_ said a nasty, scolding voice in her head. _See where your foolishness has brought you!_

Indeed, Mrs. Shinn raised an eyebrow at the librarian, Mrs. Squires and Mrs. Hix exchanged knowing, self-righteous smirks, and Mrs. Grubb started to giggle. That was bad enough; but somehow, Marian felt even worse when Mrs. Dunlop – and of course, Ethel Washburn – regarded her with sympathetic eyes. The fact that the women who were the most disposed to look charitably upon her were concerned at all indicated she had done something indecent.

Thankfully, Mrs. Shinn silenced the titters with one of her renowned glares. "If you're all quite finished, may we continue with the meeting?" she said glacially. "Tempus fugit!"

Everyone immediately quieted and turned their attention back to the agenda, but Marian knew the hairpin incident had not been forgotten – such a sensational story was sure to be dispersed into the wider community as soon as the ladies departed.

Though she exhibited a serene, unruffled demeanor during the rest of the meeting, Marian's mind buzzed furiously; she couldn't help remembering every comment she had heard whispered about her and Harold since they had married. At the time, Marian had dismissed these barbs with a laugh – though she and Harold were not above exchanging a few affectionate glances and engaging in a little light flirtation while in public, they never did anything too shameful. But now the chitchat rankled her; heaven knew what they'd be saying about her and Harold after today!

Fortunately, the meeting was adjourned earlier than usual, on account of the heavy snow that had started to fall. But as Mrs. Shinn, Mrs. Squires, Mrs. Dunlop, Mrs. Hix and Mrs. Grubb hurriedly departed, Ethel Washburn lingered on the threshold of the front door.

"Yes, Mrs. Washburn?" Marian asked politely.

After a quick glance around to make sure no one could hear them, Ethel whispered, "I find it easier to let my hair down just before Marcellus gets home."

This was said kindly, and Marian knew Ethel was only trying to help, but it mortified her to discuss with an acquaintance what should have been the most private of matters between a wife and her husband. Still, she managed to give Mrs. Washburn a gracious thank-you and farewell.

As soon as she had closed the door and ensured her solitude, Marian scoured the parlor for stray hairpins – even going so far as to move the furniture and lift up the carpet.

XXX

When Harold arrived home, Marian's hair was still tightly coifed and bound. But she couldn't resist going into the front hall to greet her husband as soon as she heard the door opening.

"You're home early!" she said, trying as best she could to conceal her sense of delight.

But he noticed it anyway, and gave Marian a happy smile in return. "It's really coming down out there, so I thought I'd close up before the sidewalks and roads got too difficult to navigate."

After Harold removed his snow-bedraggled coat and hat, he looked expectantly at her. Marian realized he was waiting for his usual welcome-home kiss, and lowered her lashes so he wouldn't see the longing in her eyes. If only she could be a little more sedate around him! It was preposterous that after half a year of knowing Harold, she should still feel such a wild thrill of joy whenever he walked into a room. "You caught me just as I was cooking supper," Marian said, by way of explanation. "I'd better get back to the stew, before it burns."

"You can't delay in your task long enough to show a little loving-kindness to your poor, frozen husband?" Harold entreated, looking at her with puppy-dog eyes. It didn't help matters that his hair was no longer slicked back into its usual smooth wave; a few errant locks tumbled over his forehead, giving him a beguiling, disheveled air.

Still, Marian managed to resist the impulse to go over and wrap her arms around him. "I've got to stir the stew!" she said with a laugh that was far more carefree than she felt.

An amused expression spread across his handsome face. "Is there a reason you're keeping your distance from me – despite your strong inclinations to do otherwise?"

"Strong inclinations?" she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You really think you're the most irresistible man in the world, don't you, Harold Hill?"

He flashed her his trademark grin. "I won _you _over, didn't I?"

"Or was it I who won over _you_?" she returned, waving her left hand at him. The gold wedding band and diamond solitaire on her ring finger sparkled merrily in the light.

Harold eyes widened. "Touché, Madam Librarian," he said, impressed.

With a triumphant smirk, she turned and went back into the kitchen.

XXX

Marian had been tending to the stew on the stove for barely a minute when her vision was blocked by a long-stemmed pink rose dangling in front of her face. Accustomed to Harold's furtive entrances by now, she didn't jump. She didn't even turn her head – though she couldn't help smiling when the petals lightly brushed her nose. "Stop it, Harold!" she laughed, backing away. "Are you _trying_ to sabotage our supper?"

"No, I just wanted to give my wife a little anniversary gift," he said innocently.

"Our anniversary isn't for three days," she pointed out, shaking her head at his tomfoolery.

"I know that," he replied with a jovial grin. "But when I was on my way home, I saw this beautiful silk rose in a shop window and had to get it for you. It's even scented! Of course, it doesn't compare to the real thing."

Marian suddenly felt guilty. Even though a snowstorm was raging outside, Harold had taken the time to go out of his way for her – and she had been nothing but aloof since he came home. Beaming at her husband, she took the rose from him and held it up to the light. "It's an exquisite reproduction," she said admiringly. "One could almost fancy it was real."

Their eyes met. Marian wasn't sure who made the first move, but all at once she and Harold were in each other's arms, united in a heated kiss. The rose slipped out of her grasp and fell to the floor, forgotten.

Things might have gotten out of hand if a sizzle hadn't brought Marian's attention back to their surroundings. As she ran over to the stove to turn down the heat before the stew boiled over too much more, she chided herself for taking leave of her senses. After two months of marriage, she ought to be immune to such flights of fancy! Instead, she was finding that the longer she was married to Harold, the harder it was to resist his considerable charms.

When Marian looked up again, she saw her husband gazing at her with the amorous gleam she knew all too well. "Shall we eat in the parlor tonight, my dear?"

"The dining room would be best, I think," she said primly. They had been spending a lot of time in the parlor, lately – perhaps a little too much time.

Harold raised an eyebrow at her. "Well, you do blow hot and cold this evening!" he said provocatively.

In response, Marian marched over to the counter, picked up a small tin and plunked it into his hands.

Harold looked from the tin to her, then back to the tin again. "What's this?" he asked with a bewildered smile.

"Fifteen hairpins," she coolly informed him. "That's how many I collected from our parlor this afternoon."

Harold let out a whistle. "Well, that's mighty impressive – especially as we've only been married two months!"

Marian gaped at him. "Impressive? I'd call it disgraceful!" She returned to the stove to stir the stew, which was threatening to boil over again.

"Say now, what's so disgraceful about a husband loving his wife?" Harold admonished, coming up behind her and putting his hands on her waist.

Marian sidled out of his embrace, on the pretext of getting a serving dish out of the cabinet. "I just don't want the whole town knowing what goes on in the privacy of our home!"

He laughed. "You make it sound like we're leaving the curtains open!"

"Well, when you scatter hairpins all over the place, we might as well be!" she retorted.

"Ah, I see," Harold said understandingly – though his eyes still twinkled with mirth. "One of the ladies must have found a pin in the parlor again."

"You may laugh," Marian said, sore, "but I've had to start keeping a tally of how many pins I put in my hair each morning and even then, I'm always coming up short!"

The sparkle of mischief in Harold's eyes faded, and he gazed at her with tender sympathy. "Darling, it was never my intention to embarrass you. Until you showed me that tin just now, I hadn't realized how careless I've been. You have my solemn promise that I'll be more mindful of such things in the future."

Indicating her acceptance of his apology with a cordial smile, Marian went over to the stove and removed the stew from the burner. "Why don't you set the dining room table for us, and I'll bring the stew in a minute?" But as she placed the pot on the counter and prepared to move its contents into the serving dish, Harold put his hand over hers.

"Are you certain you want supper in the dining room?" he asked in a low voice, his breath gently stirring a few curls that had fallen out of her chignon. There was no teasing or lighthearted note in his tone; his words were the earnest, impassioned appeal of a man who was desperately in love. Marian's heart wanted nothing more than to yield to Harold's entreaty, but the memory of what had transpired that afternoon still was too fresh in her mind.

"I think the dining room would be best." Marian's voice was steady, but her hand trembled beneath his.

Naturally, that told Harold everything he needed to know. "Marian, why are you fighting it?" he whispered, lacing his fingers through hers. She noticed his wedding band gleaming in the light, and wondered if he had meant for her to see it. As she gazed at this eloquent symbol of their union, she didn't realize his right arm was slowly encircling her waist until he had wrapped her in a hug. Harold truly was a mastermind when it came to lowering her defenses; his stealthily encroaching embrace was subtle, yet persistent, like ivy creeping around the contours of a statue.

As Harold's lips left a trail of soft kisses from the tip of her ear to the nape of her neck, Marian felt the final remnants of her resolve melt away. With a blissful sigh, she settled into his arms. Tightening his hold around her waist, Harold put two fingers under Marian's chin and tilted her head back so he could meet her mouth with his. As their kiss deepened, Harold's hand slowly migrated to the back of her head. With his usual dexterity, he slid a hairpin out of her chignon – and then another, and then another.

Marian was so wrapped up in their kiss she didn't realize what was happening until she felt a hank of hair cascading down the back of her neck. She pulled away from her husband with a gasp. "Harold, what are you doing?"

"It's all right, darling," he assured her. Bringing his left hand into view, he revealed three hairpins tucked snugly in his grasp. "See? I've been holding on to them the entire time."

But as Harold said this, the pins slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor. "Oops! Forgive me, darling," he said contritely, bending over to retrieve what he had dropped.

"Oh, I knew this was going to happen!" Marian exclaimed, exasperated. She knelt down to help him. "We've already contaminated the parlor with our lovemaking; must you bring it into the kitchen, as well?"

"Madam Librarian, it is my intention to make love to you in every room of this house," he said with an unabashed grin.

Even in her annoyance, Marian couldn't resist engaging in her usual banter with him. "Even the attic?"

He chuckled. "Especially the attic."

"Well, I suppose that's one place stray hairpins won't cause a scandal," she said sardonically, still scanning the floor. They had managed to locate two of the pins, but the third one was nowhere to be found. With a sigh, Marian abandoned her search.

Harold helped her to her feet. "You know, you could just let your hair down _before_ I come home," he suggested.

"Yes – that's one solution," Marian said tersely.

In an instant, Harold had taken her by the arms and was standing face to face with her. "And what's the other?" he asked, his good humor gone.

Marian averted her eyes from his intent, questioning gaze.

"You mean to tell me you would actually let this come between us?" he asked, sounding astounded.

A terrible silence fell as Marian tried to collect her thoughts and formulate them into coherent statements. She was never this much at a loss for words, and she hated it. But how could she explain things, without hurting his feelings?

Before Marian could think of what to say, Harold let go of her. "Well, if that's what you want, I won't trouble you anymore," he said sullenly. He turned and started to exit the kitchen, his shoulders hunched.

Alarmed, Marian ran over to her husband. "Please don't go, Harold!" she entreated.

Harold stopped, but he didn't turn around. "For God's sake, Marian – what more could you possibly want with me?" he asked, his voice thick with barely repressed emotion.

"I – I don't want you to leave me alone, entirely," she stammered, timidly placing her hand on his arm. "That's not what I meant to imply, at all. I just wish you would be a little more… restrained."

He sighed. "Marian, you've got to learn not to let their talk bother you so much."

"I know I'm being foolish," she said sheepishly. "But when they all stared at me after finding those hairpins this afternoon, I felt wanton… depraved for loving you the way I do." Her emotions threatening to overwhelm her, Marian turned away from him.

Harold laid a steady hand on her trembling shoulders. "You are not wanton or depraved," he said adamantly. "You're a passionate woman who loves her husband. There's nothing wicked or sinful about that."

Facing her husband again, Marian sought comfort in his welcoming arms. "I know I should dismiss their comments as nonsense, but there's a small part of me that wonders if what they say has a kernel of truth to it," she confessed. "Perhaps there is too much of the sensual in our relationship, and not enough of the platonic."

He gently brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "If that were true, my dear little librarian, we wouldn't be having this discussion right now. I would have taken you upstairs long ago!"

"I suppose," she allowed, giving him a small smile. "But I still think we might be scandalously in love. When we're in public, we're always sneaking glances at each other or exchanging private smiles. And we're the only married couple who takes clandestine strolls to the footbridge, like a couple of teenagers! I'm only telling you what I've heard said," she protested, when Harold laughed and shook his head.

"One would think that after a man and a woman had gotten married, people would stop talking gossip about them!" he said derisively. "But it doesn't surprise me. In my experience, I've always found – and this especially holds true for women – that the level of one's interest in what's going on in other people's bedrooms is inversely proportional to the level of activity in one's own."

Marian thought she had become accustomed to delicate nature of their conversation, but she felt her cheeks crimsoning anew. "Well, most of those women have been married for decades," she reasoned. "I imagine we'll be just as staid in twenty years."

"Oh, I hope not," Harold said fervently, giving her that ardent look of his. But instead of kissing her, he took her hands in his. "Marian, I have never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. With everyone else – even my own mother, God rest her – I could be calm and composed when I needed to be, concealing anything I didn't want to show. But then you come along and, almost before I know it, I've revealed exactly what I tried to keep hidden! As much as I trust you, it still frightens me to know that I can lose control like that."

As he spoke, Marian started to get chills. "Harold, everything you've said just now – I feel exactly the same way."

Once again, their eyes met. She could tell by Harold's heated gaze that he wanted to hold more than her hands, but he made no move toward her. It had been awhile since Marian had seen that expression of frustrated longing – in fact, he hadn't looked that way since before they were married. And it was only now that she could fully appreciate how difficult things must have been for Harold during their courtship.

So Marian closed the distance between them. But when their lips met, his kiss was as light and gentle as the ones he used to give her when they were sweethearts. As charming as Harold's restraint was, she longed for his passionate abandon. But before she could demonstrate her feelings, he ended their embrace and went over to the cabinets. "We'd better eat supper before it gets cold, and then maybe you could help me select songs for February's concert? Yesterday, I brought home all the scores I've been amassing for the past few weeks – they're in the music room."

Thank heaven for ladylike hints. As Harold retrieved plates and utensils for them, Marian quickly and quietly let down the rest of her hair.

When Harold turned and saw her, he froze, his expression a conflicting mix of delight, desire and uncertainty. "Marian… are you sure?"

By now, Marian had reached the point where she could unblushingly tell him what was in her heart. "Harold, before I met you, I always thought the poets exaggerated for dramatic effect when they portrayed lovers as getting so swept away by their feelings that they abandoned sense. Yet at the same time, I dreamed of being in love like that. But I never fully understood the magnitude of surrendering one's heart so completely to another until I had done it. Oh – I don't regret it for a single moment!" she assured him when his eyes widened. "But as wonderful as it is to be so close to you, it's also a little terrifying. You're just as good at getting under my skin as I am at getting under yours; sometimes I forget that as I'm learning your secrets, you're also learning mine." Marian paused and took a deep breath; she was starting to feel rather lightheaded. "But if this occasional discomfort is the price of true intimacy with you… it's well worth it."

Without another word of protest, Harold divested himself of the dishes he was holding. Marian expected him to catch her in his arms at once, but he only extended his hand to her, as if he were inviting her on a stroll.

Deciding to follow his lead, Marian walked over to him and placed her hand in his. But he laughed and said, "No, darling – give me the hairpins!"

With a blushing smile, she handed them over.

"My dear little librarian, how quickly you forget!" he teased, waggling a finger at her.

Marian shook her head. "No, Harold – I remembered what's truly important."

He grinned. "Sure, you say that now, when you're caught up in the moment. But tomorrow? You'll thank me for my foresight." After placing the hairpins carefully in the tin on the counter, he covered the stew, put the dishes back in the cabinet and retrieved the pink silk rose still languishing on the floor.

Marian beamed as she watched Harold bustle around the kitchen. Loving him was as natural as breathing; she couldn't help it, nor did she want to. If that meant she was scandalously in love – so be it!

Once Harold had finished setting things to rights, he turned to Marian and gave her a roguish wink. "Well, my dear little librarian," he said, his arm stealing around her waist, "I'd say we can retire with clear consciences."

"Spotless," she agreed, her expression mischievous as his own.

Harold offered Marian the pink silk rose. When her fingers touched the stem, he wrapped his hand around hers and pulled her close. After a few moments, the rose fell to the floor again. But neither of them noticed.

As Harold escorted Marian upstairs, he gazed at her with the same reverent awe he had regarded her with on their wedding night, and she knew the kitchen had joined the ranks of the parlor and footbridge.


	2. Epilogue

_It turns out Harold had a few things to say about what just happened! I think the story was fine as a standalone scene, but since I wrote this, I figured I may as well share it._

XXX

Much later, when they lay peacefully together in the bed they shared, Harold had time to think about things. He held Marian as she slept; one of his hands buried in her tangled blonde locks, the other holding the small, innocuous-looking item that had so nearly cost him his happiness. He twirled the hairpin in his fingers, watching it sparkle and fade as it caught the light from the lamp on his bedside table. He smiled sardonically at this mocking wink; it was as though the pin was daring him to further doom.

When Marian showed him the tin full of hairpins she had collected from the parlor, Harold wasn't surprised she was embarrassed and angry. But her oblique suggestion that they curtail relations threw him completely off balance. His heart had just about stopped; despite Marian's displays of modest reticence, he knew she was enjoying this new aspect of their relationship as much as he was. He never expected that she would be willing to take such drastic steps to ensure their propriety.

Yet as distraught and infuriated as he had been, Harold supposed he couldn't blame her for considering the possibility; he had been rather thoughtless in his actions. As passionate a woman as Marian was, she still had that element of innocence and Victorian reserve. He hoped she would always have these characteristics; her pristine nature was one of the things he found so alluring about her. Harold needed a woman like Marian, to keep his baser instincts at bay. Simply by being her charming and tenacious self, she brought out the finest in him.

As for what he had brought out in her… Harold grinned. It was enchanting to see how Marian blossomed as she grew more comfortable and confident in his embrace. This particular rendezvous had been especially delightful; as soon as Harold closed their bedroom door, Marian took the lead with a rapacious avidity she had never demonstrated before. But as much as he enjoyed this sooner-than-expected turn of events, Harold hesitated; as he had warned her when they were downstairs, she was too caught up in the moment to be thinking clearly. Though he longed to respond to Marian's ardent caresses, he did not want his dear little librarian to wake up with regrets. So he tried to slow the pace a bit.

"Darling, we do have some time, you know," Harold said gently, placing his hands over hers as she began to undo his belt buckle (she had never been so bold as to undress him below the waist). "With all this snow, I don't think either of us will be going anywhere for the next day or two."

"I want this, Harold," Marian replied, her voice quietly adamant. She gazed unblushingly into his eyes. "I want you."

His heart had just about stopped again. It wasn't her frankness that awed him – she had said similar things in the past – it was her absolute certainty. Even during their more unrestrained moments together, there had always been an iota of the retiring maiden in Marian's demeanor. But now, Harold saw no trace of that. A woman stood before him, with a woman's understanding. What little restraint he still possessed fled, and he lost himself in her arms.

Now, as he lay in a sated stupor, Harold could only chuckle at his foolishness. What had he been doing, wasting his time with fleeting dalliances all those years? Despite his vast experience, he had drunk only from the shallowest depths of the well of love – and fancied himself a connoisseur! If only he had known how sweet the water got the deeper one went…

Harold chuckled again. Even then, he still would have been reluctant to get too involved with a woman. A man like him, who never did anything in half measures, was right to be wary about falling in love. After all, look where it had gotten him: The great Professor Harold Hill, traveling salesman and charlatan extraordinaire, was now saddled with the onerous demands of running a legitimate business, a hefty mortgage on a cozy little Victorian in the middle of nowhere, and a wife who was every inch the wholesome, innocent female. He was living the existence he told Marcellus he despised – and he had never been happier. Luck, or perhaps Providence, had brought him to Marian.

Even on days when challenges presented themselves and made things a little more difficult than he liked, wanderlust remained a distant memory; the fascination of novelty paled in comparison to the excitement Harold felt when contemplating his wife's familiar curves. But it was more than the carnal that captivated him: He wished to plumb the depths of her soul. As they were getting to know each other and building a history together, Harold felt a closeness with Marian that transcended physical intimacy and satisfied something in him mere lovemaking never could. Still, despite this closeness – or perhaps because of it – the idea that Marian had considered not sharing a bed with him was intolerable, and he vowed never to give her cause to ponder such "solutions" again.

As Harold continued to toy with the hairpin in his hand, he realized Marian had grown too quiet. Looking at his wife, he saw she was now awake – and was gazing at him with the same fondness he regarded her with, when he surreptitiously watched her.

Harold laid the pin on his end table and turned his attention to his wife. Once their eyes met, the usual blush colored Marian's countenance. Harold grinned – for all her bravado earlier, she was still the adorable little Victorian. "Well, that was really something, Madam Librarian," he said playfully, hoping to deepen the crimson in those beautiful cheeks. "I'm going to have to come home early more often!"

Once again, Marian surprised him. "In that case, I'll make sure to start letting my hair down by three o'clock in the afternoons – at least," she replied with a sly, unabashed smile.


End file.
